Dear childless me:
Another day, another flood of non-stop thoughts. Your coworker innocently asks when you plan on having kids. Or you're holding your new cousin and your inappropriate Uncle jokes that "you can make one of those things with stuff you have just laying around the house." You sort of laugh while you muster a half-smile, but inside you just took a huge blow. Your girlfriends tell you to relax and it'll happen. Meanwhile one of them just griped about having to try for an entire three months to get pregnant. The lady behind you in the check out lane has seven kids. Geez, can I just get ONE?!
The planning. The charting. The unromantic, strategically timed, pressure filled attempt to conceive with your parter. The book tells you to have fun trying to conceive. Pessimist you rolls your eyes. Then you wait. Oh, the long wait. A day feels like a year and the rest of your cycle feels like a decade. You test. Negative. You test again--maybe the stick was a dud. Your cycle starts, the tears flow and hopelessness sets in. Again. How many times will I have to go through this?
You're fortunate enough to afford medical intervention. You drain your sick and personal time at work for all the appointments. You program your Primary Care Provider, your OBGYN, your Fertility Specialist, the pharmacy and your counselor's office into your speed dial. Oh, and your insurance company. How can you forget them ((fake smile))? Pills, appointments, more pills, syringes. More appointments. Maybe you'll have another attempt with your partner after the shots tonight; that's romantic. You don't need to pee on a stick when you're this deep in the infertility game. You do a blood draw. The real kick is when your cycle starts up again, yet you still have to take time off work to drive for the blood draw and wait a few hours for the fertility clinic to call you with the results that you're not pregnant. Again. You tell no one except your partner and your dog.
This is your life. Every hour of every day, consumed by your infertility. I will tell you that you eventually become pregnant. You are fortunate. You have a beautiful baby that fills your heart and soul with endless happiness. But I will also tell you that it will still sting to see someone post a picture of a positive pregnancy test, or the cute reveal to their partner, parents and friends. And when asked how you knew you were pregnant, you will very matter of factly have to explain how modern medicine got you pregnant, and about the phone call from the girl at the fertility clinic that confirmed the blood draw. It wasn't magical or Pinterest-worthy, but this was your journey to motherhood.